


Color Me Shocked

by dearjayycee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, And a little bit of angst, Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mentions of Mystrade, Short, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Tumblr Prompt, soul mates, yeah sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearjayycee/pseuds/dearjayycee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if when you first see your soulmate your vision goes from black and white to full of color. Sherlock is too busy worrying about the killer he's trying to catch so he ignores it and keeps running. But he can't ignore it forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Color Me Shocked

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story from a tumblr prompt, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> My awesome beta: http://always-a-friend-never-a-lover.tumblr.com

 

Sherlock had always looked up to his older brother Mycroft. Sure, he could say all he wanted that they hated each other but he knew it wasn’t true. For all the times Mycroft had come into his room after hearing his screams in the dead of night, haunted by unseen monsters, and let Sherlock curl into his side and hide his face in his older brother's armpit, Sherlock loved him fiercely.  Well, as much as he could while not knowing the fullness that love could be. Or at least that's what Mycroft had said once he met Greg. 

 

 

Mycroft had said, the world of color, of finding your soulmate was more than Sherlock could ever comprehend without knowing it for himself. Sherlock had pestered his brother, when he wasn’t out with Greg, to explain colors, trying to grasp the concept of things other than black and white.

 

Mycroft didn’t have time for him then, left him behind in his whirlwind romance, well at least that’s what mother had called it. Mother had met father when they were both young, as had most of the people in his family. But as Sherlock grew up, passing by his teen years he resigned himself to the fact that he would never find his soulmate. Most people didn’t. Years and countries separating the chance to ever met.

 

It could be worse, he rationalized. He could find his one and then lose them. Vision going back to black and white the moment they died, making the person automatically know what happened. Sherlock had seen it once, seen his aunt sitting in the drawing room with mother talking quietly about nothing in particular and then Aunt Jude going still and then blinking rapidly and the breaking down into mother’s lap. 

 

And for him after years of black and white, on his first case in London, trying to prove himself the lights came on. The streets were bustling and he was hot on the trail of a suspected killer, well, Sherlock knew he was the killer, and then starting out of the corner of his eye everything exploded.

 

He didn’t have time to think, he needed to prove himself to Lestrade, that he wasn’t just his husband’s kid brother. He needed to prove it to himself. So he ignored it, carried on and left behind his chance. He didn’t need it anyways. Saw how it blinded people. 

 

He caught the killer, and solved the case. Mycroft the first to figure out the change, only squeezing his shoulder in condolence.

 

Years later one night while sitting down in his living room the edges of his vision started to go black, at first he thought it was from exhaustion but Sherlock soon realized it was more than that. That his vision was returning to it’s former state of colorblindness, slowly, probably sickness or blood loss. 

 

He felt a drop of water run down his cheek, bringing a hand up to his cheek while checking the ceiling for a leak, though he knew it wasn’t. Tears, how odd. He rationally knew there was no reason to be crying. He had never met his person nor was he ever likely to, but he couldn’t stop the flow of tears or the constriction in his chest.

 

Sherlock couldn’t help his limbs curling into his body, it was all completely out of his control. He closed his eyes as the last bit of color was snuffed out.

 

He stayed like that for hours before exhaustion kicked in, having already spent days awake for a case, leaving him passed out on the couch.

 

When he woke the next morning it took him a few seconds to realize that the sky was bluer than it had been the day before, the implication hit him like a ton of bricks. The weight that had been resting on his chest lifted, allowing to to breath again. 

 

\--------

 

 

A man walked into the lab, cane, nervous, favoring the left side. But the look on his face both utterly confused and completely thrown for a loop. Bullet wound left shoulder.

 

 

 

Oh.

 

 

Sherlock stood up from where he was perched at the microscope, walking towards the man. Phycosomatic limp. Never considered being gay by the look on his face. Interesting.

 

 

He was stood completely still, frozen in his shock. Sherlock simply pulled the key from his pocket placing it into the man’s hand.

 

"Sherlock Holmes, be at 221B Baker St."


End file.
